


The Boy Who Died

by DelicateScholar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Drinking & Talking, Evil Hermione Granger, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Friendship/Love, Ghost Harry, HP: EWE, Implied Relationships, Love/Hate, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Post-Deathly Hallows, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Talking To Dead People, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 20:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11654454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicateScholar/pseuds/DelicateScholar
Summary: The day came that Draco Malfoy would don his finest, and darkest, robes to watch the wizarding world mourn his greatest rival.Night finds him with a headstone against his back and a Firewhiskey bottle in his hand, but he wasn't alone for long.





	The Boy Who Died

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Once_Upon_a_Parchment](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Once_Upon_a_Parchment) collection. 



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> The Travelling Companion
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> A young man does a kindness for a dead man in his travels and is joined by a mysterious person. His companion helps him along the way and to rescue the princess from her wicked ways and marry her. Turns out his helpful friend is the very person he did a kindness for at the start of his journeys.

The day came that Draco Malfoy would don his finest, and darkest, robes to watch the wizarding world mourn his greatest rival.

Once the war was over, their paths hadn’t crossed much. Harry had gone on to become an Auror and Draco had left that life behind.

The rows of onlookers filled the space, not to mention the stands; if there wasn’t over a thousand in attendance, Draco would eat his wand.

Draco stood at the outskirts of the ever-shifting bulk. Most of the spectators had a pair of Omnioculars pressed avidly to their face, same as him.

Even though nobody paid him any mind, he tugged the hood lower to cover his pale hair.

A _Sonorus_ carried the Minister’s meaningless words throughout the grounds. The large man stood on the podium in front of the white stone slab that the half giant had laid the body in, expressing his impassioned sorrows.

Kingsley spoke eloquently of Potter’s achievements. How he rebuilt society from the rubbish it was before he’d come along.

Draco checked his pocket watch, thumb running over the polished glass.

The constant click and flash of cameras underscored the steady, nearly silent weeping.

Victory Park was one of many recent additions since the Last Battle, the picturesque plot visible to the pedestrians on Diagon Alley. A large wall spanned the middle of the serene gardens, inscribed with the names of those fallen in the war.

All those on the right side.

The third hour hit and Draco found himself wishing Potter would just pop up alive like before.

Weasley climbed up on the podium, skin pale and chalky, accenting the red of his freckles and eyes and hair. The wizard said a few words, but nobody could hear.

“--err, oh. Thank you.” He straightened again, both hands clenched together. “Uhm, Harry was my best friend. He was like a brother to me.”

“He made such a difference in the lives of so many. I know he would’ve appreciated everyone...showing up.” The crack in his voice amplified, echoing. “Our family will miss...another son.”

Weasley closed his eyes as he went on. “I keep telling myself that we had great times. Hard times, but great. We grew up together, fought and broke together.” The light glinted off his wet cheeks. “He was always there for me, even when I was being a prat. That’s a friend. And he always told me when I was being a prat too, that’s a best friend.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably, focusing on the clenched hands instead of the open misery bubbling on the freckled face.

“He really wanted to help people, Harry did. He couldn’t not do it.” He gazed out at the crowd, as if anyone there might not know what a saint the dead wizard was. “Harry never thought he was a hero, you see. ‘Cause it didn't make sense to him to turn his back on anyone in need. That was just the kind of man he was. I want to be a man like that.

“A man who has honor, who knows the meaning of sacrifice.  One last time, Harry.” He thrust his arms outward, spreading both hands to release something.

A snitch.

It zoomed out into the crowd just above their heads, zig-zagging around as people watched avidly, breathlessly. Many a person burst into tears when it came close, as if Potter himself were blessing them.

Until it reached Draco.

People were turning to stare as the glinting sphere flitted precariously close to his head.

“Go away,” he hissed, ducking his head. More people were craning to see.

Draco swatted at it covertly, but finally just turned on his heel to hurry off. Moving behind a cluster of trees at the circular edge of the park, he peeked out.

Alone.

Waiting a few more minutes, he made his way back warily and lifted the magnified lenses.

The last speaker was standing before the podium.

Robes as black as Snape’s shrivelled heart, skin as sallow, was Hermione Granger. Her hair was rumpled, lips dry, fingernails bitten. Yet her eyes remained clear.

“Today is the day we mourn a great man. A man who stood up for his beliefs.” Her strong voice would’ve carried without the _Sonorus_.

“Today we mourn a champion. We mourn him as we have all the wizards and witches, who shed their blood in the fight against those who have betrayed those values."

A murmur swept through the crowd that blew back to the furthest reaches where Draco stood.

“Many of us have lost someone in the war.” Granger’s steady gaze moved around the audience. “The war is not over. There has been no ceasefire, no truce. In turn, complacency cannot exist while the best and brightest of us are struck down in this struggle. The ground is wet with blood and we have had enough!

A rumble began to grow, several shouts cracking in the air.

He tugged the hood even lower.

She continued, the dry heat of her controlled anger electrifying. “For many years we have fought against the hands that would choke us, bring us down. The Wizengamot speaks of measures and sanctions while our enemies grow in strength again. Are we so weak and short-sighted to lay down? I refuse to believe the righteous men and women here will allow the memory of the fallen to be forgotten. We must be of one heart, one mind, joined in unity!”

“Unity!” came the scattered cry amongst the cheers.

Granger slammed her hand on the marble, the sound echoing. “Harry had his parents, his childhood, and now his future taken away. We have all been robbed. Robbed by ignorance and hatred, by madmen and the illusion of power.

“A civilisation worthy of the sacrifices that came before them will not rest or falter until the threat has been eradicated. For we stand here today, the greatest gathering since the death of Merlin, and I tell you now that I will never admit defeat. Will you?”

The roar of denial was deafening, filling the ears and shaking the bones. Arms were raised, feet stomping, faces etched in reflected fervor.

In the eye of the storm she lowered her hands to lower the volume. Her listeners fell into a pregnant hush within seconds.

Chills ran down Draco’s spine.

Hermione lifted her wand to the sky, a burst of light shining from the top.

“In this historic hour we raise our wands for Harry Potter. For unity!”

Like a tidal force from the front to the back, wizards and witches and children raised their glowing wands until it was a searing white.

  


\----------------------------

  


The Firewhiskey burned as he drank straight from the bottle. The small graveyard in Godric’s Hollow was empty.

Except for Draco.

He had been sure that there would be a crowd, but who was he to complain?

“Cheers.” He toasted to the empty spot next to the Potter parents before pouring a dribble on the grass next to him. It was becoming a habit of his, getting pissed with nothing but the company of corpses.

The speakers had left in procession after the last speech. Draco hadn’t remained to touch the white stone, unlike every other person in attendance.

“Potter, I never thought we’d be here.” He took another drink. “What a bloody joke. You survive multiple attempts on your life by a wizard with the skill of Merlin and none of the restraint, then get done in by some unlucky sod.”

The name of currently the most hated wizard in the world was being kept under tight wraps. A small mercy. Especially if the person had family.

“Really.” Draco swished the remaining liquid, eyeing the paltry amount left. “The most famous bloody wizard in the world. Does it bother you, I wonder, that people celebrate the day your parents died?”

“You tell me.” Potter sat down next to him, legs criss-cross, and turned to look at him.

Draco blinked.

“Merlin’s knickers!” he yelled, scrambling back. His travelling cloak tripped him up, sending him on his arse. He stared at the man, chest heaving. “You---you---”

Potter remained silent, pushing up his glasses with one finger.

The familiar sight knocked him out of his stupor. “You selfish bloody bastard, do you even know what’s going on out there--”

“Malfoy?”

“--the wailing, the gnashing of teeth--”

“Malfoy.” Potter leaned forward to grab Draco’s robed knee. The fingers passed straight through.

Oh.

_Oh._

“Sweet Salazar, you're a ghost.”

Potter shrugged, examining his white shirt, faded jeans, and trainers. So much Muggle.“Is this what I was buried in?”

“Oh yes,” Draco said scathingly, “I remember that from when they invited me down to St. Mungo’s to pick out your clothes.” He jerked his robes straight, snatching the cloak from where it ripped off.

The wind rustled around them, several dead leaves blowing past. Potter reached out to catch one.

It kept going.

He looked at his hand curiously, turning it around in the silvery moonlight.

Draco stood up. He had enough of Potter living, he wasn't going to sit and have a coze with him now. “Have a fun afterlife.”

He walked away instead of Apparating, best to avoid drunken splinching. Nobody called him back.

Potter could haunt his ancestral home for all of eternity for all Draco cared, he was never going back there. Never.

Draco stumbled over a stone or a root in his haste. He searched for his wand, but noticed a gleaming white cobblestone path ahead. Fanciful for a picturesque little town.

Untold minutes passed as he walked on the smooth stones, the sense of being watched crawling under his skin. Finally he whirled around on the spot, glaring.

There wasn’t anybody, living or dead.

Something flit by his left ear. He jerked again, searching in the darkness. His hand shot out, fingers closing securely around the ridged metal.

He opened his palm, revealing a snitch.

Potter clapped, looking far too amused.  

The burst of satisfaction deflated immediately. Draco scowled and threw the snitch away from himself as hard as he could. It looped mid-air and came back.

Damnation!

“What, are you haunting the snitch?! Merlin, Potter.” Draco half-heartedly attempted to smack at the object flitting around his head.

The other man shrugged, smile fading.

Draco didn’t know why Potter looked so down, he wasn’t the one being bothered by two of the things that plagued him most in life.

Since it was beneath his dignity to try and hex a snitch in the middle of some dumpy village, he resigned himself to it. For now.

“Come on, Potter."

Hands jammed in pockets, he kept walking until the path joined a road. The satisfying glow from the Firewhiskey was fading and now he was just cold and drunk.

“There’s an inn up ahead,” Potter suggested, falling in step next to him. “You look tired.”

“At least I’m not dead.”

The other wizard blinked at him, lips twitching slowly into a smile.

Draco scowled and shuffled his feet extra loudly to make up for the eerily silent ghost footsteps next to him.

“And how,” he finally said, “am I supposed to walk into any place with the bloody apparition of Harry Potter following me? People are going to think...bad things.”

Potter shrugged again, clearly amused.

That was going to get old fast.

To add insult to injury, the inn ahead turned out to be a posh estate that even his parents wouldn’t turn their nose up at. And he was exhausted. The night air had finally sunk in, leaving him chilled and aching.

Nothing for it. He could only hope the owner was upper class enough to only care about the galleons in his pocket and not his ‘guest’.

The front door was exquisitely carved and two iron lanterns swung hypnotically on each side.

The door swung open for him and he stepped inside the opulent foyer. Warmth soaked into his skin immediately. It didn’t take long before a witch strode down the hall to them. Tall and thin, she was all gracious smiles.

“Welcome to the Fortuna. I am Abeona, your hostess.” She inclined her head courteously, keeping her gaze on him.

“Just the one room.”

She nodded again before rounding the corner to a wide and well-lit staircase.

Draco followed her, occasionally looking over his shoulder. There was no snitch to be seen, but Potter remained.

She stopped before a double-wide door. “Breakfast will be served in the hall if you wish. For immediate service, our house-elf Tiberius shall attend to you.” She lit the room with a flick of her wand, then bowed briefly and left him.

Potter walked ahead of him, looking around. “This is huge. Costly too, I bet.”

“Your plebeian is showing,” Draco snorted.

“Excuse me?” came from behind. She hadn’t closed the door yet.

“Nothing. I’ll be on my way early.”

“Very good, sir.”  

After casting several locking and privacy spells, he turned to glare at Potter. “She couldn’t see you.”

Potter raised his hands. “I’m just as surprised as you.”

Draco began to slowly walk around him. “I was certain I could see through you earlier.” From head to toe Potter looked ordinary, not even the least bit silvery.

“You’re not pulling a fast one, Potter?

“If I were, why would I hang about you?” he asked back cheekily.

Ignoring him, Draco decided to explore. The bedroom had a satisfyingly high ceiling, a proper armoire, and a four-corner bed wide enough to fit a group. He took a seat on the edge, sinking nearly two inches into the softness.

“Now,” he said, staring at the embodiment of poor. “No, you know what? That _always_ bothered me. You can afford nicer glasses, haircut, clothes.”

He looked down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with these? They’re neat and serviceable. Hermione bought them for me, never did let me pay her back.”

“That appalling taste aside, I meant why did you spend all of our school years wearing that rubbish? It looked like your shirts used to house a small elephant. Were you looking for pity? You didn't need people's pity, you had their admiration, their respect. Their fear, at times. But no, you just went around poor and pathetic.”

Potter walked toward the chaise lounge and took a seat, crossing one ankle over the other. “Don’t hold back now.”

Draco stood back up, restless energy pouring through him. “Did you see that gathering today? There were bloody Quidditch stands. The masses would have followed you anywhere.” He began to pace, the words pouring out. “You could've _used_ being an icon, become the greatest Quidditch star or the damn Minister of Magic. They would've let you do anything!"

That little smile was finally wiped off Potter’s face.

Draco flung out an arm. "You could have had a different witch on your arm every night! Traveled the world! You could have NOT died!”

Looking away, he closed his eyes and breathed hard for a time.

When he opened his eyes, the chair was empty. He was alone again, as he feared he had been from the beginning.

\----------------------------

Morning was short and perfunctory.

He woke alone, ate alone, dressed alone.

He could have immediately Apparated home, but walked a ways down the road. After a time he began staring through the surrounding trees, looking for a messy head and white shirt.

“Everyone probably fell asleep by your tomb. And spent all night weeping, you selfish tosser.”

Nothing.

“I hope you’re visiting one of them because I’m glad you’re dead!” He shouted at the treetops and kicked a clump of dirt that sprayed all over a white cobblestone path.

A familiar path.

Draco looked around cautiously before approaching the pale stones. Against his finer instincts for self-preservation, he began to follow it.

The woods went from looming and sparse to so thick he was pushing branches out his way, dead pine needles blanketing the ground.

When he reached the clearing, Draco found himself at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

The wrong side, no less.

He nearly ran up the grassy knoll, tripping over his cloak once on the way. Once he was a good stone’s throw away from that death-trap, he stopped for a breather.

A quick inspection revealed no witnesses to his slightly undignified rush.

Hogwarts loomed on the horizon like a hazy painting, the wind carrying the sound of the House Banners’ wild flapping on the Quidditch pitch.

“Did you bring me here?” he asked no one.

The lack of anything moving unnerved him. After a possible eternity of looking around, a faint curl of smoke caught his eye.

Cocking an eyebrow at the familiar hut, he climbed over the hill toward it. The dirt was dry as a bone, crumbling under his heels every time he stepped on a bare patch.

He knocked loudly and waited. No answer. Not that anyone would be able to hear him over the racket inside. Holding his wand out, he pushed the door slowly. The sharp stench made his eyes water.

Every available surface was cluttered with skins, furs, and _dirt._ Grimacing, he took a step over the threshold. The rough-hewn tables and chairs were in a disarray, most knocked over and crooked.

“Merlin, is that a bear?”

A wounded bear at that, given the deep groans emitting from the big lump. Wand at the ready, he walked around the big body. Then lowered his wand in disgust. It was just Hagrid.

The wizard, if he could be called that, was splayed on the floor and wearing a hideous jacket made from brown hair. Hopefully not his own hair.

Sleeping deeply, if the volume of snores and waft of alcohol permeating the hut were any indication.

Draco shook his head, stuffing his wand in his sleeve. If this was where strange paths led him, he would be avoiding the next one.

He stepped around the big lump and nearly ran into Potter, dressed the same as yesterday. Muggle shirt, jeans, those stupid glasses.

“Salazar’s Silkies!”

He steadied himself on the corner of the table to avoid falling over, then shot a glare Potter’s way. Naturally he wasn’t paying the slightest bit attention to Draco.

Instead he was gazing down at the slumbering half-giant. “This was his best jacket.” He reached out a hand, stopping just short of the massive shoulder.

“What a shocker.”

Potter stood there, silent, until his hand dropped to his side. “He was with me when I entered this world, you know. And he carried me out. Twice.” Two slow tears slid down Potter’s cheeks. Not silvery, just plain wet tracks running down his face.

Draco poked at a bowl of what appeared to be dusty treacle tarts. He stared hard, then picked it up to smack it against a table.

What kind of nutter kept rocks shaped like sweets? He tossed it back in the bowl with a clunk and glanced at the other boy.

“I’m sorry, Hagrid.” Potter was still just watching the slumbering man, head bowed.

Draco ran his fingers along the edge of the scarred and dull table, careful to avoid splinters. No amount of varnish could save the former driftwood.

He was running out of corners to poke that didn’t terrify him. The whole place could use a dozen different cleaning charms. As well as the owner.

Finally he huffed. “Come on, Potter. There isn’t anything you can do, look at him! Do you just enjoy hanging around tossers and drunks?”

A lopsided smile touched Potter’s mouth. “Obviously.”

Mmph. Draco crossed his arms, squinting at one shiny corner. Was that...unicorn hair? Why would he have great big clumps of it stuck on the walls?

Potter snapped his fingers, suddenly patting down his pockets. “Wait,” he said excitedly. “I know I had it.” He pulled a wand out of his pocket.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly sure that’s as useless as your wand was while living, if you know what I mean.” Odd, it wasn’t the same one he’d had in school.

Potter began to hunt around, poking in all the disgusting corners. Finally he snatched up a broken pink umbrella, smiling widely as if it were the lost tome of Merlin.

Before Draco could even wonder why the umbrella wasn’t falling through his hand, the dark-haired wizard touched the tip of his wand to the splintered wood.

A warm pulse of light filled the room.

Potter was left holding the now fixed umbrella and a second wand. His smile was joyous.

“We can go now,” Potter said, tucking the long wand beside Hagrid.

Draco led the way, eager to leave the homage to primitive the place had going on.

Breathing in the crisp afternoon air, he turned to make sure Potter was following.

Wait, no.

He fished around in a pocket, grabbing the snitch and holding it up. “ _This_ needs to go elsewhere. Who do you want to have it? Weasley? Granger? Other Weasley?”

Potter tilted his head. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Have you got a better idea?” He sniffed. “Unless you want to hang around me rather than your friends.”

Potter smiled. “No, not at all.”

“Right, well, the feeling’s mutual.” Draco shoved the snitch back in his pocket. “Which leads back to, which one should get the snitch?” He waited impatiently as Potter ruminated on his answer. How hard was it to choose? He knew instantly who he’d choose to see after dying.

Oh right, Potter didn’t have a mum.

“Weasley it is.” Draco Apparated on the spot.

His mother had bought him a fine set of parchment and other letter-writing supplies for his first year at Hogwarts. He still had the same ink bottle, small and chipped from the time Blaise got knackered sixth year.

 

_We need to speak._

_DM_

 

“Tactful, as always,” Potter said from over his shoulder.

Years of writing essays in noisy common rooms kept the quill from slipping in surprise at the sudden appearance.

He added,

 

_Your git of a friend is haunting your snitch. Please come pick up._

 

“Much better,” Potter said dryly.

Draco crumpled the letter, then Vanished it for added effect before twisting in the chair. “What do you suggest I do, pop on down to their house and hope nobody chucks me out on my arse? That is never going to happen."

\----------------------------

Draco stood on the doorstep of the Burrow, holding an artfully wrapped package. He couldn’t even begin to guess which redhead would answer the door.

As luck would have it, Ginny answered the door. At least he hoped she’d be less likely to hex him than her brothers.

She cocked her head. “Malfoy.”

“I would like to see Mrs. Weasley, please.”

She stared at him for a ridiculously long time before taking a step back. “She’s in the kitchen. Do you want to wait here?”

Draco did _not_ want to wait inside, in case one of the lopsided floors above finally succumbed to gravity. “I'll meet with her in the kitchen.”

Ginny gave him another searching glance before shrugging and leading him through the… house.

The kitchen was adjoined with the front room, and no receiving room in sight. The furniture and fixtures appeared clean, if worn.

Mrs. Weasley was crying as they entered, a wet cloth clenched in one hand. The surprise on her face was palpable upon noticing them. She hastily wiped her face with the rag.

“Announcing the young Mr. Malfoy, Mum,” Ginny said, giving him a warning glare before leaving.

Hint taken.

He managed a smile for the matriarch, holding out the package.

Mrs. Weasley returned the strained smile and took the gift, waving her wand at it. The packaging split neatly down the middle, the unmarred bow landing on the table.

Mrs. Weasley lifted the top and set it aside. Inside was a plain, leather-bound book. She flipped the first page, eyes widening in shock.

The first page was a photo of Harry riding on his broom during the first task of the Twizard Tournament.

Draco had had to undo the charm he’d put on there years ago that had made it look like the dragon set him on fire.

Each page had a different picture, most were ones he’d had Goyle buy from Colin Creevey. Admittedly, given Goyle’s growing pile of sweets back then, the sickles never ended up in the skinny boy’s hands.

It had been a surprise how many pictures he’d amassed over the years. Sometimes Draco could see why certain members of his House rolled their eyes every time he mentioned Potter.

She flipped through page after page, stroking certain pictures. After she shut the book she came around the table, heading straight for him.

Draco had to physically stop himself from flinching.

Molly Weasley hugged him fiercely, so tight he had to bend over.

She pulled away after what seemed like an eternity, surreptitiously wiping her eyes and sniffling. “Thank you. Oh, thank you!”

Draco nodded and examined the kitchen contents while she neatened herself up. The vegetables on the counter still had roots and dirt clinging to the sides.

So much dirt everywhere.

“If you don’t mind me asking, is...Ron here?” The name felt strange on his tongue.

Mrs. Weasley cast a distracted smile his way as she placed the book back in the decorative box. “No, I’m afraid not. He’s off with Dudley, Harry’s cousin, to visit the tomb. The poor boy couldn’t attend the memorial on account of his mother’s health. Though if you ask me, she wasn’t sick _before_ hearing about her nephew. Awful woman.”

She looked so furious that Draco nearly took a step back.

“Dudley came?”

Harry stood beside the kitchen table, shock written all over his features.

Draco blinked. “Well he’s your cousin, isn’t he?”

Mrs. Weasley turned around, brow furrowing. “Oh no, dear, he’s Harry’s Muggle cousin, not ours. I’m not sure exactly when Ron will be back. Would you like to stay for dinner?” Her gaze ran over him disapprovingly.

He couldn’t imagine why, his robes were pristine and in the latest style.

At the look on Potter’s face, uncomfortably similar to earlier, Draco quickly shook his head. “I can’t, but thank you for the offer, Mrs. Weasley.”

She smiled again. “No, thank you, Draco. But I’ll let Ron know you came by, and please don’t hesitate to come back.”

Though he considered ditching the snitch and running, ultimately he resigned himself to carrying it longer.

“Still there, Potter?”

“Yes, Malfoy.”

Of course he was.

A second look back revealed the dark-haired apparition was trailing behind, face like a smacked arse.

Draco certainly wasn’t going to indulge Potter in his mopes, so he whistled loudly while making his way down to a spot to Apparate from.

A white cobblestone path cut through the field.

He slowed, scowling. That wasn’t happening again. “Where’s this one lead? Another ramshackle hovel? You keep the strangest company.”

No answer.

He looked over his shoulder in a bit of a panic. No, Potter was still behind him, staring at the path in trepidation. Quite similar to the expression he wore first year, walking out to the Quidditch Pitch for his first game. Huge eyes, mouth tight.

Draco had been in the stands then, filled with envy and spite, hoping to see him knocked off his broom or, even better, wetting himself.

“Come on, Potter.” He resolutely turned back and head toward the bloody path. Perhaps the quicker they visited whatever miserable broken place was next, the quicker he’d be gone.

Like before, the path stretched into the horizon of unending fields. By the time the grass around him shortened and grew green, he could see the gleaming white tomb ahead.

A shudder ran through him.

“We’re back at Diagon Alley.” He made sure Potter was following.

He was still there,  surveying their surroundings curiously. “Where is this?”

“You don’t recognize your resting place? Right smack in the middle of Diagon Alley. Now the shoppers can gaze upon their hero every time they need a quill or a hat.”

“Oh.” His voice was quiet. “I thought perhaps I’d be next to my parents. I would have liked to have been buried there instead.”

That made something in his gut clench.

Draco stared ahead again, spotting a familiar redhead and a Muggle. And what a Muggle, looked like he swallowed down another Muggle.

He glanced at the wizard next to him who resembled his cousin not at all. “What, did he get your portions?”

“Yes,” Potter said simply.

Draco squinted at him, but was interrupted by a shout.

“Oi! Is that you, Malfoy?”

Merlin. He pasted on a polite smile and nodded at them both as he closed the distance. “Weasley, your attention to detail is astounding.” It slipped out before he could help himself.

Weasley only seemed minorly annoyed before turning to the wide blond next to him. “Sorry, Dudley. He’s...an old classmate.”

The whole lot was empty, save for them. He’d have thought the midnight vigil would last at least another week or so.

“How did you even get here?” Weasley’s vacuous blue eyes scanned over him. “This is a private viewing. Hermione put up the wards herself.”

Draco shrugged and searched for his tag-along.

Potter stood a few feet back, hands in pockets. The only parts of him that wasn’t still were his eyes, roaming all over the other two.

Right. Draco fished in his pocket. “I brought you this.” He held it out, clenched between thumb and two front fingers.

Weasley blinked at it. “Thank you?”

“It’s the one you released yesterday, you duffer. Take it!” he snapped, patience finally unraveling now that he was so close to being free.

So close.

Weasley took the snitch and stared at Draco as if he was the mad one. “Dudley, can you excuse us for a moment?”

The tall boy nodded. “Sure.” He shuffled back toward the tomb without another word, seeming smaller somehow.

_There_ was the resemblance.

Potter had the same habit of shrinking back during conflict. Except when he faced off with Draco, then he had always huffed up like an outraged pygmy puff.

Weasley was staring at him again. “Malfoy, I appreciate your returning this.  But...are you all right, mate? You look,” he looked him over, “rumpled.”

A Weasley asking about his welfare? His father would turn over in his grave. Or worse, look disappointed.

“Just,” he indicated the snitch, “hold it for a moment.”

“Right…” Weasley drew out the word warily.

Lo and behold, Potter was still visible to him. Of course he was.

“Do you see anything over there?”

Weasley dubiously glanced where he was pointing. “Why?”

“Just look!”

The other wizard examined the air to their left again.

No reaction.

Draco whirled on the spot, glaring at Potter furiously. “He can’t see you! Why are you doing this?” _To me, to him_. It didn’t matter.

Potter raised both hands, mirroring Ron’s expression of alarm.

“Have you cracked, Malfoy?” The old Weasley was showing. “There’s nobody there.”

“Yes, there is!” Draco shouted. He didn’t want to see Potter all the time. He didn’t want to see his face anymore, reminding him of everything that had gone wrong in his life.

It wasn’t fair that Draco saw him instead of seeing...other people.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe you need a lie-down,” Weasley said, not entirely sarcastic.

“No,” Draco ground out. “I need my life back. I need your friend to stop hanging about all the time.”

The redhead immediately looked shifty. “Hermione? Right, about that--”

“No! Wait, what?” He waved a hand. “Never mind that now. I meant Potter. Harry Potter.”

He got an utterly blank stare for his troubles.

“Potter,” he repeated loudly, “is standing right there. Nobody else can see him, but he is there.”

A myriad of emotions crossed Weasley’s face; confusion, realization, alarm again, anger, sadness, hope.

Then anger again. “Merlin, you haven’t changed, have you? Do you think this is funny? You git. It’s only by the grace of Harry you’re not rotting in Azkaban--”

“Why would I lie about this? And don’t you dare bring up--”

“--and this is how you repay his memory, you bloody--”

“--all the hypocrisy of your bloody side, none of you believe in second chances--”

At that point he wasn’t sure if Weasley was saying actual words anymore. To be fair, Draco wasn’t either.

He was barely aware of the Muggle wading between them until he was pushing them away from each other. “Hey, hey! What is going on!”

Draco let himself be pushed back, breathing hard.

Neither seemed willing to answer, though that might have been a side affect of being speechless with fury.

Dudley looked between the two of them, then settling on Draco. “Did you say...he’s here? Harry?”

Weasley jerked as if punched.

“Yes,” Draco said firmly, “he’s here.”

Potter just stood there, utterly stricken.

Dudley looked all around, groping out with one arm as if he’d feel him. “Why can’t I see him? Is it ‘cause…” His broad shoulders slumped, “‘cause I’m a Muggle?”

Ron finally found his voice again. “Muggles can’t see ghosts, but that’s not the point. He’s not really there, Malfoy’s just gone off the rails.”

He sneered back, about to tell Weasley where he can stick that damned useless snitch.

“But...he might be, right?” Dudley asked slowly. “It’s possible with magic, innit?”

Weasley frowned, trying to wrack his brain. “I dunno, mate. Hermione would know.”

The Muggle snapped his fingers. “I know how to tell! We’d seen it on the telly a hundred times. Have him tell you somethin’ about us nobody’d ever know.”

Draco stared blankly at him, then shrugged. "Harry, tell me something Weasley would never ever want me to know.”

“Harry, don’t tell him anything!” Weasley protested, then rolled his eyes at himself.

Potter tapped his chin thoughtfully. “He fell in love with Romilda Vane after eating my Valentine’s chocolates.”

“He ate your chocolates? Git deserved vain Vane then.”

Weasley didn’t look pleased. Or impressed. “Anyone could’ve overheard that. I was out of my mind the whole way to Slughorn’s, wasn’t I?”

Draco stared up at the sky. “Blue knickers, you say, Harry? Was Ginny mad when she found out?”

“He did not say that!”

For the first time Harry cracked a genuine smile, shaking his head.

Draco would have gone on, but that cousin was still staring at him like he could produce Harry from thin air.

Merlin. Why would he take the piss out on them about such a serious matter? On second thought, he wouldn’t trust the Weasley either.

“Give me another,” he sighed.

Potter wrinkled his nose a bit. “We followed the spiders to the forest. Flew a car to Hogwarts. Had our first DA meeting at Hog’s Head.”

Draco snorted. “Those are terrible, Potter. I knew most of those. Except for the spiders, why would you follow spiders?”

“That's what I said!” The redhead burst out. Then he shook his head quickly, stubbornly refusing to be convinced.

Potter stared at the ground, face settling into long lines.

He took a few steps closer to his friend, gaze intent on him. “When you followed the light back to us, I forgave you before you ever said a word. I was mad, yeah, but I had my best friend back.”

Draco shifted, reciting it hastily and without the gravitas.

Weasley’s face crumpled as the realization sank in, like wax melting. “Harry…” His watery gaze searched the area, fists clenched at his sides.

His face finally crumpled and he covered his face with both hands. The choked sounds were unbearable.

He’d finally made Weasley cry. It didn’t quite have the shine he had hoped for in his youth.

“Are you going to do me next?” The Muggle asked suddenly, hopefully. “Has...he got anything to say to me?”

And that was what Draco had envisioned from the get-go, throngs of wailing onlookers, begging for a message from the great Harry Potter.

Potter, however, smiled warmly at his cousin. “When you said I wasn’t a waste of space, it meant the world to me, Big D.”

He repeated it dutifully, hoping that Big D didn’t start blubbering or anything.

Dudley beamed. “And I meant it, Harry, every word.”

Yes, definitely seeing the family resemblance  


\----------------------------

Draco walked with the wizard and Muggle to the Leaky Cauldron, in the hopes that Weasley would see eventually see Potter.

Any moment now.

“Are you sure he went away? And he’ll be back?” Weasley asked for the umpteenth time as they entered the cluttered Pub.

“It happens sometimes.”

Meanwhile Dudley was gazing about the place sadly. “Thanks for bringing me. And I’m really glad I got to talk to Harry.”

Both wizards immediately shushed him.

“This is a secret, okay?” Weasley said placatingly. “And we don’t know how long it’ll last.”

The Muggle nodded. “Yeah. And thanks Drake, you’re a real sport.” He held out a hand.

Draco looked down at the beefy fingers, grimacing. He’d already corrected him on his name twice. After an awkward moment, Draco shook his hand and did not wipe his palm on his robes after.

Weasley stuck out his hand too. “I, uhh, don’t hate you.”

Draco shook his hand. “I don’t hate you either. Tell your mum I said hello.”

Ron jerked his hand away. “Malfoy--”

He rolled his eyes. “Just tell her. No tricks, honest.”

Weasley made a sound that was possibly an agreement before leading Dudley to the entrance of Muggle London.

Feeling lighter than he had in days, Draco decided to stroll down the nearly deserted streets of Diagon Alley. Many shops were still closed.

A single white stone showed up in the cobblestone streets he’d walked down many times in his life.

He carefully sidestepped it.

Nothing unusual about that, there were many coloured stones under the grime if one squinted hard enough.

A second stone cropped up.

And a third.

“I swear, Potter,” he hissed, feeling around in his pockets.

_No._

Yanking the snitch out of his pocket, he growled. “You feathered little _bastard!_ I should--”

He stopped abruptly, noticing a passer-by skirting around him warily, clutching her toddler close.

“It’d serve you right if I didn’t follow it,” he muttered, plodding down the path as the light stones grew in number. It wasn’t long before the buildings became taller and flatter, the streets wider. The path curved until it disappeared into a run-down building.

Draco gazed at the dirty windows, sighing before walking through the wall to the entrance of St. Mungo’s. Walking past the Welcome Witch, who appeared to be assisting a wizard with a bird head, he went straight to the lifts.

“Where to now?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

The lift doors slid open, so he climbed on. The people around paid him no mind.

"Can you hit the fourth floor for me, please?” A little witch asked from behind, both her hands wrapped in a robe.

He hit the button, craning his head a bit to see what she was hiding.

She blushed bright red and practically ran out the lift when it opened again.

Draco followed, since he hadn’t any other ideas. Spell Damage, the sign read.

“Any ideas?” he asked aloud.

A familiar voice had him immediately backing up and casting a Disillusionment charm on himself.

Old habits, he supposed.

“Thank you, Professor Sprout. It means a lot you’d come all the way down to help me tell them the news.”

Neville bloody Longbottom passed by, smiling down at the short Professor.

Sprout patted his arm. “Of course. I’m very excited you’ll be taking over my position. I’m sure your mum and dad are very proud of you.”

Draco knew where he was now.

The Janus Thickey Ward was the most depressing place in Wizarding Britain, trumping even the last two houses he’d gone.

It took a minute to find the two Longbottoms. Something unpleasant wound through his stomach at the memory of Neville’s fury all those years ago.

The two adults were sitting limply on a faded pink couch, both sickly thin with wispy white hair. A sick feeling swamped through him.

“They’re not umbrellas, Harry,” he whispered.

“I know.” Potter stepped from behind him, holding his wand again. “Stand back.”

“Wait, no don’t!” His hand went through the wizard’s shoulder. When would Potter learn he couldn’t save everyone?

Draco had to shield his eyes as light poured out from the wand tip. As it faded, he lowered one arm cautiously.

Color raced into the Longbottoms’ parchment-thin skin like a flame racing up parchment. Longbottom’s mum suddenly began to plump up. Within seconds she had a round face and the robes no longer hung off her.

The dad's hair began to grow back in thick tufts over his shiny dome. He began to pat the armrest again. “Where are my glasses? I know I left them somewhere.”

Alice looked around the room blankly. “I have to get...” Her hair darkened to a dirty blonde and the last bit of color pinkened her lips. “I have to get my baby. Where is he?”

Draco backed up slowly, beckoning to Potter. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait. I want to see.” He watched the scene as if expecting everyone to burst into song and dance at their new chance at life.

Neville’s mum began to scream, covering her face. “Don’t come near my baby! No!”

Her husband wrapped both arms wrapped around her, shushing her. “It’s fine, Alice. It’s fine now. He’s an adult. Remember?”

She broke down into huge, gulping sobs, clinging tightly to him.

The sound of footsteps pounded closer and Draco ducked out just before Healers came in, wands ready.

“Let’s just go,” he hissed, walking quickly through the side room. On the way he saw another familiar figure. “Is Lockhart on your list of good deeds?”

Harry coughed. “No, probably not a good idea.”

Typical.

Bitterness curdled in his veins. “Just like you, only saving the ones you deem worthy.”

Potter sighed, averting his gaze. “Yeah, I don’t actually have that hero complex everyone says I do. A shame, I sound pretty great according to them.”

“Oh, shut it,” Draco snapped. “You’re disgustingly idealistic. Even hearing you imply you’re selfish makes me want to hex you. I hate it when you’re humble, it’s infuriating.”

Potter tried not to smile, and failed. “Sometimes I think you’re complimenting me, then you keep going and I get confused.”

“I’m sure lots of things confuse you.”

Potter’s smile finally reached his eyes, trained on his.

After a few seconds Draco kept walking, uncomfortable in some undefinable way. They entered the lift and Draco hit the button to the first floor.

The doors slid open on the second floor.

Draco impatiently hit the button several times, but nothing happened. He glared at Potter, because this was his fault.

“I haven't got a clue, honestly,” he protested.

“And isn't _that_ the story of your life?”

Potter chuckled. “Sometimes, yeah.”

Scoffing, Draco stepped off the lift and stalked around the rather busy floor, a whole slew of people waiting in the chairs by the front desk.

“Draco? Draco!”

He stopped, backing up several steps to peer into a room nearby.

A hand, which was attached to a body with no head, grabbed his sleeve.

“Argh!” He ripped his sleeve out of its grasp.

The headless body waved its only arm frantically. “Shhh, it’s me, Pansy.”

He huffed, still creeped out at the sight of her. Or lack thereof. “What are you even doing here?”

“What do you think, you plonker! I have the Vanishing Sickness.”

“You’re in luck then, I can have you fixed up in a jiffy.” Potter might as well use his wand to help someone Draco wanted to help for once.

Pansy’s body jerked back. “What? No!”

Draco blinked.

“I told them I was Lavender Brown and that I mucked up making those ugly scars of hers disappear.”

This made less sense by the second. “Why?”

She stuck one hand on her hip, tapping one bare foot. “To avoid being pulled in by the Ministry, obviously. I barely got away, but my family wasn’t so lucky.”

He was definitely missing something. “Why are they doing that?”

“I wouldn’t know, would I? But I’m not about to find out. I’m shocked you’re here, everyone who had ties to the Dark Lord or his followers are being found and brought in.”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t understand. How could all this happen in a day?”

“What do you mean? They started doing it right after Potter’s memorial, two weeks ago. And you won’t believe what else happened.”

He gaped at her before looking around wildly. Potter was gone again.

“What’s wrong?”

He ran out of the room, ignoring her calls. Heading back to the waiting room, he snatched a Daily Prophet out of a startled, blue-and-green spotted witch’s hands.

He walked off, scanning the date again and again.

Nobody accosted him or raised an alarm.

The hall he went down stretched on forever, led by the path he was growing to hate and fear.

Throwing down the paper he shouted, “How is this fair? Just because you lost everything gives you no right to take away my life!” He kicked the paper for good measure.

Draco started back the way he came, hoping against hope he could still return.

The walls darkened quickly, the doors becoming narrow and dark. He slowed until he came to a stop, staring at the door the path ended at. There was no choice.

No, that wasn't right. He always had a choice.

Draco held his head high and opened the door.

Hermione Granger sat behind a wide desk, the plaque reading Minister of Magic  


\----------------------------  


Granger stood up slowly, lips parting in shock.

“Stupefy!” she shouted.

Draco ducked, having had a split-second warning when she’d hesitated. He rolled behind a chair, wand at the ready.

Silence.

He crouched lower, considering his options, when Granger suddenly appeared next to him, a shimmering cloak in one hand and a wand pointed at his forehead.

Her brown eyes were cool and dark. “Shall I take your arrival as surrender?”

“What are you on about?”

She jammed her wand tip between his eyes. “I knew you’d rush in when you heard. I didn’t want to have to do it, but desperate times and all that.”

None of that made sense. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to.

“Hands where I can see them. But please, consider defending yourself.” A strange smile stretched her mouth.

Draco raised his hands. “This would be a great time to have a _second_ wand, wouldn’t it?”

Nobody answered.

His wand flew into her outstretched hand. Tense situations were not his friend. His back was already damp with perspiration. “I’m cooperating, Granger, see?”

She laughed while backing up, apparently deciding because he was wandless meant he was also defenseless.

She wasn’t wrong.

Taking a seat behind her desk, she smiled brightly at him. "The Magical Law Enforcement has been pouring untold resources into finding you.”

“While that’s flattering, you’re not really my type. Though I have been known to hang around overlords.”

Her smile soured.

“I guess this is where you take me to the Aurors?” Hope sprang eternal.

Granger’s eyebrows rose in fake surprise. “You must not know procedure has changed.”

“Oh?” That came out more shaky than intended. Potter had always been reliably upstanding.

She smiled. “You’re going to answer my questions first. Then we’ll talk consequences.”

If the blackmail of Skeeter and Edgecombe’s two year disfigurement taught him anything, it was that Granger was flexible in her applications of justice.

He could respect that. Except when it was directed at him.

“So that’s how it is? No trial, no appeal, just straight to Azkaban with me?”

“Azkaban?” She laughed.

Ice ran through his veins at the jagged sound.

Granger smiled her odd, pleasant smile again. “I actually have set up a more permanent repercussion.”

Fear had long since burrowed deep in his stomach.

“But we simply cannot afford the kind of leniency that got us into this mess. Which is why I’ve taken steps to prevent certain ideologies to flourish again.”

Draco twitched. “You’re killing them, aren’t you?”

“No, no. We're a civilized society, after all. There are other ways of culling out undesirable members of society.”

He licked dry lips. “What have you done?”

“What needed to be done!” she shouted, slapping her hand on the desk.

The sudden change was frankly terrifying. And nobody knew he was here, thanks to those damned cobblestones.

“You can’t just pick and choose who’s allowed to be free. People won’t allow it.”

She sneered. “Why do you think they elected me in the first place? How quickly you forget the past. Speaking of which,” she picked up her wand again, “let’s talk about that night.”

“Which night?”

Her fingers tightened around the wood so hard he was shocked it didn't snap. “You know which night. Your presence at the Manor during our raid did not go unnoticed.”

“I was with my mum in Manchester.”

“Mmm, yes, so she said. But I can be very persuasive, Malfoy, and she told me you were at the Manor, trying to talk your father out of committing treason.”

If she harmed a single hair on his mum’s head, there’d be no place for her to hide, Minister of Magic or not. “And I did.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“He agreed to come back.” Closing his eyes briefly, still seeing the flashes of spells, smell the raw stench of coppery blood.

Her smile was bitterly triumphant. “So you were there.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong! ”

“No?” she asked coolly. “You seem awfully defensive, Draco.”

"I couldn’t imagine why, _Hermione_.”

Her demeanor darkened, lips thinning. “You shouldn’t have run.” She leaned forward, hands flat on the table. “The people want justice for their fallen hero. They elected me with the expectation I would deliver that.”

Draco could taste his pulse like candy on his tongue. “...all I did was drag him out.” The weight of his father under one arm, the scalding blood soaking through his shirt. Wildly shooting out spells in the smoky, too bright room.

“I can read the guilt all over your face. It’s all right...you don’t have to confess.” Her eyes remained empty as she stood up and walked around the desk, wand trained on him. “Why don’t we take a little walk?”

“No.”

Pain exploded in his arm from a well-placed Stinging Hex. The next was cast point-blank against the right side of his chest, leaving jagged razors of agony in its wake.

She grabbed his arm and bodily pulled him to his feet. “You’d be surprised how effective jinxes are when applied correctly. Now move.”

Draco did.

Dragging his feet, he made his way to the door while clenching the snitch. Each breath was worse than the last. “Granger…”

“Begging won’t save you.” She was cold again, clinical.

Each step seemed to take an eternity, and when the smooth stones began to dot the carpet, he could have fallen to his knees in gratitude.

Licking his lips again, he managed a, “Nothing...will bring him back.”

A pause. “At least he’ll be avenged.”

“Yeah...sounds like...what he’d want.”

She jabbed him in the back. “Shut up, Malfoy. You know nothing about Harry.”

He finally managed a deep breath. “I think you’re scared.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, shrilly.

“How do you know it wasn’t yours?”

“How _dare_ you? Everything I did was about Harry, it was all _for_ Harry! I could never harm him!” she shrieked.

Draco, for once in his life, wisely said nothing.

Meanwhile Potter had both hands morosely jammed in his pockets, walking next to him again.

“Just keep walking,” she seethed. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

The hall was long gone; the sparse trees once again looming above.

She poked him again. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Mmmm. If you tell me where you’ve been all this time, I’ll Stun you first. You won’t feel a thing.”

He said nothing.

“C’mon, Malfoy.” She prodded him in the same spot as before, making him wince. “I know you were around. I couldn’t let anyone know I was looking for you, but they all told me about your visits.”

He looked over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow. “Why the secrecy?”

“I didn’t want anyone interfering.”

If he wasn’t chilled before, he was now. Where had she thought she was taking him?

She went on. “Back to my offer. Tell me, because I know there’s no place you could have conceivably hidden from me. I made sure of it.” Another low laugh, the sound dragging along his senses like a blade.

His breath hitched.

The iron fence surrounding the small cemetery appeared on the horizon. The path beneath their feet ended. He dove out of the way, shouting, “Now!”

“Expelliarmus!”

The two wands flew from Granger to Potter’s outstretched hand.

And went right through his fingers.

Draco scrambled toward the wands. “Of all the stupid spells--”

His fingers wrapped around both, seconds before a body landed on his. All the air rushed from his abused lungs, which was good, nobody could hear him scream.

He got out from under her by sheer luck and pointed both wands at her.

She was darting tiny glances around while watching him. “What did you do? How did you move us here? I know it wasn’t Apparition or a Portkey. Tell me!” she demanded, magic crackling through the words.

“I didn’t bring us here.”

“Then who did?”

Potter crouched down beside her, never taking his eyes off her.

That made Draco hesitate as well. What would the knowledge do to her? She was already unhinged, any wrong step could send her over the edge. The skin beneath her eyes was thin and translucent, lips pale and cracked.

“She’s not an umbrella,” he whispered.

“I know.” Potter sighed.

When he said nothing more, Draco slowly climbed to his feet.

She mirrored him, warily looking between him and the wand.

“I didn’t kill Potter.”

For just a second she looked stricken, before her face hardened. “You were there that night, it was you. Mad with grief, I expect.”

“Rich, coming from you.”

He made no move to hex her, but he backed up every time she moved. His arm ached, the wand point trembling again. “Get a move on, will you?”

Granger narrowed her eyes at him, nearly black in the scant light.

“Not you. But don’t get me started,” he spat. “I get it, you're sad. We're all fucking sad! I lost my father that night too. And instead of grieving beside a bottle and warm body, I've gone skipping around time to unbreak umbrellas and drooling idiots. Thanks for that, by the way, keeping me out of the maul of hellhounds or whatever this crazy bint set upon me. I get it now.”

She tilted her head. “Who are you talking to?”

“Some arsehole.”

“So...yourself?” A hint of old Granger shone through, acerbic and sane.

Potter moved in front of her, looking sadly down at her.

She stood very still all of a sudden, gaze roaming all around.

“Hermione,” he whispered, reaching out to skim his fingers along her hair. “I remember when Crookshanks died. You were such a mess. You fell asleep crying that night.”

She closed her eyes.

Messenger boy, that was his life now. “What would you tell him, Granger?”

“I would tell him that the plans I have for you would make him retch.”

Charming. He waited, trying to hide the tremble in his wrist.

She sighed slowly as Potter wrapped both arms around her.

“That he's missed. I wish he were here.” Her face twisted, fists clenching. “No, I don't wish he were here. He wouldn't understand what I'm doing. He’d stop me. Because I'm a monster.” She covered her face, digging fingers into her skin. “He'd hate me!”

“I could never hate you,” Harry said tenderly. “I know you’ve been so sad.”

Off her rocker, more like.

“Oh Harry,” she choked frantically. “You don’t know what I’ve done...the people I've hurt…”

“You have to be strong now, Hermione. I won’t be around to protect you from trolls and grabby Quidditch players.” He sighed, still smoothing a hand over her hair. “There were a lot of people on the wrong side of the Battle of Hogwarts. Just like that night. You have to forgive them. And yourself. ”

She stared up suddenly, lips were wet and shiny with tears.

Harry moved back, beckoning her. “Come on, Hermione.”

She followed him, almost dreamily. Because where the Boy Who Once Lived went, she went as well.

He led her to the cemetery and down the rows to the empty spot next to his parents.

Harry pointed his wand at their feet, the light pulsing stronger this time.

A long bundle wrapped in pristine white cloth appeared on the ground.

“No,” she moaned, falling to her knees. A visible shudder ran through her. “I’m sorry...I’m so sorry.”

It looked very small. Hardly large enough to be a grown man, and certainly not one as all-encompassing as Harry.

Draco watched her whole body heave, the sounds coming out of her just as jagged and ugly as before. But different, somehow.

Hermione stood up eventually, ungainly, as if weighed down. Her dark eyes still glittered, but with sorrow. She bent down next to the body and picked up a shovel nearly as tall as her.

The dry dirt and pebbles grinded loudly as she shoved the metal into the ground.

It was slow work. Sweat coursed down her face as the minutes crawled by, dirt clinging to her skin. Her robe had long since been discarded.

Hours passed before she climbed out of the hole on wobbly legs, tears leaving behind clean streaks on her cheeks.

Hermione bent down and lifted Potter, barely staggering under the weight as she carefully stepped back inside to lay him down. With each shovelful of dirt she threw on the body, a broken sob ripped out of her chest.

Draco never stopped watching her.

Not even when she curled up on the flattened dirt. Not when the dawn broke over the horizon, the birds chirping at each other.

“I guess you think she’s worthy too, huh? I’ll reserve my judgment on that. But I’m not looking after her for you.”

No answer.

“Don’t pout, Potter. _If_ I’m not arrested on sight, I may occasionally show up if she’s gone off the deep end again. No promises though.”

He remained alone.

After a time he sat beside the last resting place of his greatest rival. “If you see my father, tell him I said forgive him. It’s the least you could do, really.”

His pocket began to vibrate. He held up the snitch, eyes widening as it split open. A cracked black stone was nestled inside. He examined the otherwise ordinary stone, turning it every which way. Nothing happened.

A mystery for another day, perhaps.

He Transfigured it into a single white rose and laid it on the dirt, and the wand next to Granger.

Draco didn’t say goodbye before he walked away. He was sure they’d see each other again one day.


End file.
